Save Your Goodbyes for the Morning Light
by lilbluedancer
Summary: The first time it happens, its an accident. Five times Lydia sleeps with Scott, and one time they sleep with Stiles. Stydia if you squint (yes, really, I swear).


_One._

The first time it happens it's an accident.

It's definitely an accident, because if Lydia had been planning on sleeping with Scott she would never have showed up outside his apartment dressed in leggings and Stile's old Beacon Hills lacrosse sweatshirt under her coat.

 _Please_. She would have worn a push up bra.

It happens like this- it's the fourth year anniversary of Allison Argent's death, Stiles is doing a semester in Ireland (the chance at working with all those elementals first hand was too good to pass up) and Lydia stands outside Scott's apartment door holding a bottle of white wine in one hand and a handle of whiskey in the other.

Scott opens the door in just sweatpants, no shirt. His eyes are a little red but other than that he looks okay.

"What're you doing here?" Scott asks. His voice sounds scratchy.

She smiles and holds up the liquor. "Want to get drunk?"

They sit on Scott's beat up couch and watch bad made-for TV movies. Lydia drinks wine out of a juice glass Scott finds in the cabinet. She watches his muscles flex as he reaches for it, surprised at the ache between her legs as he moves.

He drinks straight from the bottle.

"Werewolves can get drunk right?" she asks, taking a big sip of wine.

Scott gives her a crooked grin. "Sure. Just takes commitment."

"Good," she says, and raises an eyebrow. "Impress me then."

Scott takes a long pull and she watches his throat work as he swallows.

Lydia starts crying halfway through her third glass of wine, deep torturous sobs that vibrate through her ribcage.

Scott reaches out and takes the glass from her before she can break it, sets it on the coffee table. He doesn't say anything, just sits there with his hand hovering over her shoulder.

He's so warm Lydia can feel the heat of his palm sink into her skin.

"I'm sorry," she sobs, her hands curling over the seat of the couch.

"Lydia." Scott catches her face in his hands and turns her to face him. "Why are you apologizing?"

Because Allison died to save her. Because Lydia got the love of Scott's life killed.

Because she couldn't get up the nerve to tell Stiles she was in love with him before he got on the plane to Dublin.

Because Allison's gone and she's so goddamn sorry.

She falls into Scott and he holds her close, wiping her tears off with the pads of his thumbs. Gentle, sweet Scott McCall, face close enough to kiss.

"Lydia," Scott whispers, like a warning.

It's wrong. She knows it's wrong.

She bats her lashes and parts her lips, and Scott bends down slowly, waiting for her to stop him.

She doesn't, and it feels so right.

Suddenly it's all heat and tongue and _wet_ , Scott's hands ripping off the sweatshirt and her camisole before Lydia can even blink.

She pulls him down on top of her on the couch. Scott settles between her legs, weight heavy and delicious.

He goes right for her throat, rubbing his nose all over, licking her. He's scenting her, Lydia realizes.

Scott's head comes up to look at her, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown. She wonders if he can smell how wet she is, how turned on he has her already.

Lydia remembers the boy she made out with in Coach's office a lifetime ago, and how she wasn't attracted to the things in him that she is now- not his kindness, his loyalty, his innate goodness- but at the hum of power she detected buzzing under his skin.

Maybe it's because she's a banshee, or maybe she's just plain mentally disturbed, but there's something about being this close to death that turns her on.

How else can she explain Jackson, Aiden, even her... _whatever it was_ , with Parrish?

Something that drives her into bed with monsters.

Scott growls once, low in his throat, and Lydia feels her body go soft, melting back into the couch, her legs spreading wide.

It's some lizard brain response, she knows, to submit, her body recognizing Scott as the predator he is.

He rolls his hips and Lydia can't help the moan in the back of her throat, the throbbing want between her legs.

She's so lonely, especially with Stiles gone, and Allison dead (four years, how can be four years already?).

She needs Scott to make it stop hurting. She needs him to make her forget.

Scott peels her leggings off in one sharp pull, leaving Lydia spread out under him in a plain black bra and thong.

He sits back on his knees and looks at her, hard in his sweatpants. She's drunk and she needs him to touch her.

She _needs_.

Scott takes a breath and comes down on his side, pressed between Lydia and the back of the couch. His hand goes between her legs, his eyes on her, waiting for her to come to her senses, to realize she doesn't want this.

His hand is large and warm. Lydia rolls her hips, pushing into him so he can feel her, wet through the fabric.

Scott exhales sharply, and starts to rub her through the lace. Lydia's warm and buzzing with wine, the heat coiled low in her belly rising like a snake.

They lay like that for awhile, his warm hand on hers. It feels so good but she can't come like this, and if they stop now she will just die from sexual frustration, she swears.

"Are you sure?" Scott whispers. He's grinding against her thigh, breath coming in sharp pants.

She rolls off her thong in response. "I'm on the pill."

He nods, suddenly all business, standing up to take off his sweats and boxer briefs before settling between her legs.

"This is a one time thing," she says quietly, when he comes down on his forearms. "Okay?"

Scott smiles at her gently and reaches down between their legs. "Okay, Lydia. Whatever you want."

The things is, Lydia isn't expecting to _like_ it.

She knows what she's looking for-a distraction. A way to get out of her black hole of grief. Something essentially meaningless but necessary.

She isn't expecting to like it when Scott pushes into her with one deep thrust.

But she does. A lot.

Lydia likes it when he mutters, _sorry, sorry_ , and gives her a minute to adjust before pulling out and pushing back in so slowly it makes her ache.

She likes it when he swirls his tongue around the shell of her ear.

She likes it when he grabs her wrists and pins them over her head.

She doesn't know what she was expecting-Allison Argent's virginal young boyfriend, she supposes. But Lydia will never be Allison, and nothing about Scott says _boy_ anymore.

She isn't expecting it when the throb between her legs turns into a ravenous fire in her belly. She's panting, moans sliding past her lips every time he thrusts home.

Scott slips a hand under her ass like she weighs nothing and the thrusting turns into a deep roll that causes the fire to spiral up her spine.

"Don't stop," she orders, clutching at his waist, head thrown back against the arm of the couch.

Scott's looking down at her, watching her lose control, and when she begs, _harder,_ he grips her hips tight enough to bruise.

He pounds into her and she comes hard, arching up into him with an embarrassingly loud cry.

Scott fucks her through it, aftershocks making her legs quiver. He comes a few minutes later with a shudder, his forehead pressed to hers.

They sit together naked on the couch after, hip to hip, twin looks of shock on their faces.

"Are you...are you okay?" Scott asks awkwardly.

Lydia runs a hand through her hair. "I don't know."

Scott's hand on her thigh, so light she wants to cry again. "Do you want to sleep here?"

She shouldn't, she should go home and take a shower, she should Skype with Stiles.

She shouldn't be sitting here, naked, with Scott.

Scott, her best friend aside from Stiles. Scott, the boy bitten by the same monster who bit her.

Scott, her alpha.

She climbs into Scott's bed naked and he curls around her from behind. It shouldn't be so soothing, his strong arms holding her close to his chest.

"Scott," she whispers.

"Yeah?" He sounds sleepy.

"Scott, we can't tell him."

His arms tighten around her. "I know."

In the morning they go out for breakfast. Scott walks her home after and gives her a quick hug when he drops her off, like he's afraid to really touch her.

Stiles comes back from Ireland. The three of them go back to their easy friendship, and she doesn't give that night with Scott another thought for three months.

 _Two._

The second time it happens it's not an accident. It's a hookup, plain and simple.

They go to a party with Stiles. Stiles, who came back from Ireland and started dating Kylie.

Kylie studies ancient runes. Kylie wrote her thesis on the Salem witch trials. Kylie is beautiful.

Lydia hates her.

Kylie is at the party.

When Lydia finally gets fed up enough with Kylie and Stiles to leave, she drags Scott with her under the pretense of making him walk her home.

She kisses him as soon as they walk into her apartment.

Lydia smiles into his mouth when he kisses her back, walks Scott backwards to her bedroom.

He turns around and slams her against the door. Scott rubs against her, sweeping her long waves to one side to suck on her shoulder.

"We're really doing this again?" he says hoarsely, pulling up the hem of her dress.

"Seems like it," she says, trying her best to sound blasé and not like she's desperate for his touch.

Scott rolls down her underwear and pushes her legs apart. "You want me to fuck you?"

Lydia shivers.

His hand slips between her legs, parts her. He shudders when he feels how wet she is.

"Lydia." He slips two fingers in and she rolls her hips. "Does that feel good?"

" _Yes_ ," she hisses. "Jesus, Scott."

"What?" Lydia can feel Scott smirk into her neck. "You don't like to talk in bed? Yeah, right."

"You think you know everything, huh?" She rolls her hips, pressing her ass against his groin, smiling when he groans.

"I know last time I fucked you...you loved it." He counters.

She rocks into his hand, finding a choppy rhythm. "You didn't?"

Scott growls. "Wanna make you come so good, Lydia."

 _Holy shit_. When did nerdy Scott McCall become a sex god?

She spins in his arms, raising her chin like she's daring him. "Then fuck me already."

He does. Twice.

 _Three._

The third time is only because of extenuating circumstances.

Like, really, truly bizarre extenuating circumstances.

Stiles and Lydia foolishly go to the Presido alone to look for pixies and walk right into the middle of a goddamn war.

The only reason they get out alive at all is because of the mountain ash grenade Stiles throws.

Lydia makes it three feet from the jeep when she gets hit by some kind of spell right in the back, and Stiles has to open the passenger door and toss her into the car like a dead body.

Stiles drives wildly, left hand on the wheel, right arm holding her close to his chest.

"Lydia, Lydia talk to me!"

"Cold," she mumbles. She's shaking everywhere. It's in her teeth, in her fingers, under her skin, sliding through her veins.

 _Cold_.

Stiles wants to drive her to the hospital but she convinces him to go to the apartment he shares with Scott instead. They call Scott and put him on speaker so Stiles can explain what happens, and Scott hangs up to call Deaton.

Stiles talks to her the whole way home, telling her to _hold on, don't die, don't fucking die, Lydia._

He carries her up to their apartment, yelling at her to _stay awake!_

"Cold," she whimpers, pressing her face into his neck. "So cold, Stiles."

"I know," he murmurs. "You're doing so good Lydia, almost there."

She knows Scott's listening for them because the door opens right as they approach the threshold.

"Bathroom," Scott says shortly, taking Lydia from Stiles. "Gotta warm her up."

Stiles trails behind them, rattling off statistics about hypothermia. The bathroom smells likes sage and lavender. The tub is full of steaming hot water, herbs floating on the surface.

Scott puts her down and she slumps into him, gripping his shirt to stay upright.

"Deaton says it's pretty basic," Scott says, stripping Lydia down to her underwear at wolf speed. "It's called a sleeping beauty spell. The herbs will reverse it."

Stiles is shaking in the doorway, fingers in his mouth.

"Stiles, you okay?" Scott asks hurriedly, picking Lydia back up. His body radiates heat and she presses herself against him, trying to absorb it.

"It was a fucking bloodbath, Scott. Pixies! Who the hell would expect _that_? Jesus Christ, I thought they _killed_ her."

Scott lowers her into the tub, twisting around to look at Stiles. "Take a deep breath, man."

Stiles shudders and comes to sit by the foot of the tub.

The water is hot and fragrant. She's still so _cold_. Lydia wants to sleep, forever, and the water slips over her head.

There's a splash and Scott's diving into the tub, climbing in behind her to lift her up under her arms.

"Don't go to sleep," Scott says firmly, holding her up against his chest.

Lydia blinks heavily and sees Stiles staring at her, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Hey," she croaks. "It's okay. I'm okay."

Stiles rubs his face and wraps his hand around her wet ankle. "Don't do that to me again."

"Okay."

Scott's warm and the water is warm and something inside her starts to unwind. She sighs heavily and presses her cheek to Scott's wet shirt.

"I think it's working." Scott's rubbing her hands between his.

Stiles' thumb runs along the arch of her foot. "What time is it?" he asks Scott.

"Almost one."

"Stiles," she whispers. "Stiles, goes to bed."

"No," he says shortly.

"What time's your...history midterm?"

Stiles glares at her. "Seven-thirty."

"Have you even studied yet?"

"Got held up," Stiles jokes weakly.

"Dude, go study. Or sleep," Scott says.

Stiles eyes flash, looking only at Lydia. "You going to be okay?"

She give him a shaky smile. "It's okay. You already saved me."

"Okay," he sighs, and yawns so hard his jaw cracks.

He stands up and lays one hand on the top of her head, a benediction.

"It's ok," she murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere."

He gives her a watery smile when he leaves, and then it's just her and Scott.

They stay in the tub until the water cools, like Deaton instructed. She's still shivering, clinging to Scott as she drips water all over his bathmat. He strips off his wet clothes and wraps her in a towel before tying one loosely around his waist.

He guides her to his room and puts her in his bed. He hangs the wet towels up before climbing in next to her, pulling her flush up against him.

"Body heat," Scott murmurs. "Your core temp was way down."

"Enchanted sleep, huh?" she mumbles. There's something wrong with her mouth, she's shivering too hard to talk properly.

"You're okay," he reassures her. "We got you in time."

"I thought..." Lydia breaks off, clutching his arm as she starts to shake uncontrollably. "He told me not to die. He was so scared, Scott..."

"Shh, it's okay. Everyone's okay."

"I'm so cold."

Scott puts one hand low on her stomach, rubbing sweeping broad circles over her skin. "Just relax. I've got you."

Ice in her veins and Scott's hand trailing heat wherever his fingertips touch her skin.

"Scott," she whispers shakily.

"You're okay, Lydia."

She arches into his touch, feeling herself melt under his fire.

"More," she whimpers.

"Lydia-"

"Please." She cheats, pushes her ass against his groin so he gets the idea.

He curls over her, sweeping her wet hair off her forehead. "Are you sure?"

She shakes in his arms, hips tilting up in search of his hand. "Please, I need it. I need you."

Her voice sounds frail and desperate. If she hadn't just almost died she might be embarrassed, but she did, and she's not.

"Okay, okay." Scott's voice is gentle when his hand slides between her legs.

Lydia sighs, feeling the cold melt away as his fingers stretch her, stroking her back to life.

"Warmer?" he murmurs, a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Not enough," she whispers, pushing against him so she can feel him hard against her lower back.

Scott lifts her top leg and pulls it back a little. He pushes into her from behind, left arm keeping her anchored to his chest. "Better?"

She reaches down and pulls his right hand to her clit, shows her how to play with it the way she likes.

"Yeah," she sighs, feeling him stoke a slow burning fire inside her. "Yeah, that's good."

Scott goes slow, setting a rhythm for her. She rolls her hips with him, feels the steady thump of his heart against her back.

"Don't want to hurt you," he mutters, going _slowly, slowly_ , fingers applying steady pressure.

"You're not." She rolls onto her stomach and Scott comes with her, knees bracketing her thighs.

He plants butterfly kisses down her spine, groaning when she grinds into his hand. "God, Lydia."

So close, so close, her body flooding with a familiar warmth.

Scott pulls her up on her knees, strong enough to hold her up with one hand, the other one working between her legs.

Her thighs shake and she gasps, clutching his arm.

"Don't let go," Lydia babbles nonsensically, slamming her hips back into him. "Don't let go Scott, don't let me go."

"I've got you." Scott grunts and snaps his hips, making her moan. "I've got you, I've got you."

He rubs her hard and she comes, collapsing back against him with a ragged cry. Scott holds her up, her legs shaking, and he jerks behind her, teeth scraping at her neck.

It's another night they don't talk about.

 _Four._

It happens a lot like the third time, except it's Stiles who almost dies.

"Fucking _fairies_." Stiles seizes and spits blood onto the floor of San Fransisco General.

"Shh." Lydia combs his hair through her fingers, watching Scott yell at a nurse for not triaging them as soon as they came in through the ER doors, drenched in blood (mostly fairy, some of it Stiles').

Lydia and Scott stay with Stiles until he's been stitched and sedated, so tired they can barely stand up straight.

She kisses his forehead, smoothes the crisp hospital sheets. "We'll pick you up in the morning, okay?"

He gives her a drugged-up smile. "Love you, Lydia," he slurs. "Love you guys."

Scott squeezes his shoulder. "We love you too. Get some rest, buddy."

Scott drives them back to the boys' apartment in the jeep, a blanket spread out over the front seat so they don't smear blood everywhere.

They're too tired to talk, stumbling naked into the shower together to hose off all the blood. Lydia stares at the water, seeing a different bathtub, black fifth coming up through the drain.

"Lydia," Scott says sharply.

She's on her knees, swirling the bloody water around with her fingers.

"Sorry," she mumbles, letting him help her up.

"Rough night," Scott says quietly, into her hair. "It's okay."

She grips his hips so she doesn't slip, catching the noise he makes in the back of his throat.

"Scott," she whispers. "Do you think...think we're gonna make it through college?"

He's backing her up against the shower, nudging her thighs apart with his knee. "We survived high school."

A hysterical laugh makes its way up the back of her throat. "Not all of us."

Scott lifts her up and her legs wrap around his waist.

"We've made it this far." He pushes into her, watching her face carefully. "We're not dead, Lydia."

"Are you sure?" It's a joke but the delivery falls flat.

"Let me show you," he says, and starts to move inside her.

She grips the back of his head, her arms winding around his neck. She's a mess, scared out of her mind from watching Stiles almost die, blood _everywhere_...

"Stay with me," Scott snaps, yanking her hair so her head snaps back.

They lock eyes and she sucks in a breath, feeling the throb between her legs spiral into something wanton.

"Good," Scott murmurs. "Keep looking at me."

She does. She watches his face, single minded concentration as he moves inside her, keeping her here, grounded, with him.

He fucks her hard and fast, his eyes flickering red as she starts to moan his name.

"You gonna come?" Scott grits out. He's slamming up into her, hitting that spot deep inside that makes her toes curl.

" _Yes_ ," she hisses, finally waking up from their nightmare, everything spiraling into _need_ and _want_ , and desperation, to feel good, just for a few minutes. "Yeah, just fuck me hard, okay?"

Scott obliges. She clenches around him, panting, _please, please, Scott, please_.

"Scream for me," he growls, and snaps his hips.

Lydia does it, _screams_ , shattering in his arms, barely noticing when Scott groans and drops his head to her chest.

"What're we doing?" he asks later, when they're curled up in blankets on the couch, too wound up to go to sleep.

She blows delicately on her mug of tea. "I don't know."

Scott's hesitant, his hand hovering above her knee. "I think maybe we should stop."

She raises an eyebrow. "You don't want to fuck me anymore?"

"I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Oh, Scott," she sighs.

 _Five._

The fifth time happens because she's Lydia Martin, and no one rejects her, especially not Scott McCall.

"What're you doing?" he asks her warily, when she locks the door to his room and whips off her top.

He sounds a little afraid. _Excellent._

"I'm getting naked Scott," she says tartly, sliding out of her skirt.

Scott flops down on his bed and covers his face with his pillow. " _Lydia_."

"Yes, Scott?"

He peeks up at her and gives her the puppy dog eyes. "We said we were going to stop."

"You said. I agreed to nothing."

"Lydia-"

She stands in a purple lace push up bra and tiny matching thong. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want to."

Scott covers his face in his hands and groans. "You're killing me here, you know that right?"

She crosses her arms. "Give me one good reason why not."

Scott sits up cross-legged and gives her a look that makes her nervous. "How about this Lydia? You're in love with Stiles."

Her mouth drops open. "Am not!"

Scott laughs at her. "Give me a little credit, Lydia, I'm a werewolf. I can literally smell your love."

"How I feel about Stiles is irrelevant," she snaps.

"Jesus Christ," Scott groans. "Okay, how about this. You can sleep with one of us, me or Stiles. Who is it?"

"Stiles isn't here," she says tightly. "Stiles is at his girlfriend's. So I pick you." She sits down and pretends to examine her nails. "So can we stop it with the hypotheticals and get down to business?"

"If you told Stiles how you feel maybe he wouldn't be with Kylie, have you thought about that?"

She looks at Scott in horror. "I can't tell him!"

"Why not?"

She curls her knees to her chest. "I just can't, okay?"

"Lydia." Scott scoots sideways so he can sling an arm around her. "Why the hell wouldn't you? He's been in love with you forever."

Lydia stares down at her knees. "What if he doesn't love me back anymore?"

"Are you kidding? We're talking about Stiles, Lydia. I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about."

She doesn't say anything, just traces squares around Scott's plaid comforter, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Goddamn Scott, always wanting to talk about feelings.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Why're you so upset?"

"Because you won't give me what I want?" she says acidly.

Scott grips her shoulder. "Lydia, I've _literally_ been inside you and you can't tell me the truth? "

"Jesus, Scott."

"Lydia." He shakes her gently. "Come on. Tell me how you feel."

Lydia scowls. "No."

"C'mon, Lydia." Scott gives her a cheesy grin. "You can do it. I believe in you."

"I came here for sex, not therapy," she retorts.

Scott leans over and traces the cup of her bra. "Maybe it can be both?"

Lydia stares at him, hating herself when she gets wet between her legs, even more for the fact that Scott can _smell her._

He lays her down on her back and hovers over her, like he's taking her in for the first time. He bends down to kiss the spot just below her ear, coming down on his forearms to support his weight.

"How do you feel, Lydia?" he says, in a gravely voice that is way too attractive to belong to Scott.

"Nervous," she breathes, shivering when he comes down to mouth at her breasts, sucking on her nipples through the lace.

"You don't have to be nervous, it's just me." High school Scott, peeking through the edges. Interesting.

"Scott, I don't really do this," she breathes, sighing when he settles between her legs.

"Do what?" he whispers. "Honesty?"

"Feelings."

"You have to talk about how you feel with someone," Scott protests.

"I prefer to compartmentalize," she says airily. She rolls her hips, feels him large and hard right where she needs. Good boy.

"No wonder you're so on edge all the time," he murmurs, rolling his hips slowly, tracing figure eights with his tongue on her stomach. "Must be exhausting, keeping everything inside like that."

"I don't know what you're taking about."

Scott lifts his head to grin at her. "There's more than one kind of release, Lydia."

"I prefer a physical release," she says coolly, rolling her hips for emphasis.

Scott fists her hair and leans down to brush his lips against hers in a ghost of a kiss. "The other kind can be good, too."

She smirks. "Prove it."

Scott kisses her neck, just enough of his weight on her to make her want more. "Tell me what you want, Lydia."

She wraps her legs around his waist. "I want you to fuck me."

Scott scrapes his teeth against her throat, chuckling when he hears her heartbeat accelerate. "Tell me what you really want."

Fine. If he wants to play, she can play.

Lydia runs her fingernails up and down his back. "I want Stiles to fuck me, okay?"

He grins and rolls his hips in a way that's just mean. "That's it? You want Stiles to fuck you? You could have had him in your bed months ago."

"I want...I want..."

"Say it," Scott encourages.

"Take off your pants."

He rolls his eyes but reaches down to kick his sweatpants off before settling back between her legs. His hand is on her left thigh, kneading the muscle in a way that makes heat pool in her belly.

"You know what I think, Lydia?" he whispers.

"What?" she whines.

His hand slides up to her hip. "I think you're afraid."

She freezes under him, furious at how transparent she is. "Really, Scott? What could I possibly be afraid of?"

"You tell me, Lydia."

Her heart pounds but not because of what he's doing between her legs.

"Hey, it's okay." Scott's hand is drifting slowly, too slow, towards the edge of her thong. "I won't tell."

"I'm going to need more incentive than that."

His hand slips under the lace of her thong. "Like this?"

She sighs, spreading her legs for him. "We're getting there."

Scott pushes two fingers inside her, thumb firm on her clit. "Better?"

"Scott, if you don't fuck me soon, I swear to god-"

Scott just laughs. "I thought you'd rather be fucking Stiles."

She blinks at him, trying to discern if he's just teasing or if there's hurt feelings in there somewhere.

"It's okay." Scott crooks his fingers inside her. "I knew what I was getting into."

Lydia rolls her hips. "Then you should know I'm getting extremely impatient."

He raises an eyebrow. "More dick, less talking?"

She smiles. "You read my mind."

Scott shakes his head but pushes his boxer briefs down obediently. "I don't know how you get me into these situations."

"It's a talent."

"Lydia," he whispers later, when he's inside her. "I can help you."

"Mm."

Scott rolls his hips and she bites back a moan."With Stiles."

"What do you... _ah, fuck_..what?"

"Yeah, I'm going to help you," Scott mutters in her ear. "So fucking stupid, both of you."

"I'm a genius," she spits, and hooks her leg underneath Scott's to flip them so she's straddling him. "So's Stiles."

Scott grips her hips, picking the rhythm back up. "In school, sure."

"What does that mean?" she pants.

"You both suck at relationships," he points out.

She grinds down on him and watches Scott grimace.

"What would you know about it?" she says coldly, clenching down hard just to watch him struggle with control.

He growls, watching her breasts bounce as she rides him. "At least I've been in love."

"Well I'm so sorry we can't all be the mythical Scott and Allison," she says snidely, and bursts into tears.

He hauls her off him, his mouth open in shock.

Lydia curls up in the fetal position, something sick and twisted clawing at her insides. She clamps down on her teeth, swallowing screams for a dead girl.

" _Shh_ , it's okay, it's okay, Lydia." Scott curls his body around hers, pulling her into his arms.

Lydia presses her face into his chest, fighting the monster trying to get out. Scott catches her flailing limbs, crosses his arms tightly around her so she can't hurt herself.

"Just let it out," he murmurs, rocking her back and forth like a child. "Let it out."

Scott's right. When it's over, she does feel good.

Stiles and Kylie break up two weeks later. When Lydia asks why Stiles turns red and goes to the bar for another drink.

Scott winks at her. "Turns out I'm not the only one who thinks Stiles loves you back."

 _Six._

Lydia spends the $500 in birthday money her father sends her on a hotel room downtown.

"Why aren't you having a party this year?" Stiles questions, taking in the king sized bed and large flatscreen on the wall.

Lydia smiles coyly, brushing past Scott to hand out champagne bottles, one for each of them.

"I'm having a party," she says, her fingertips brushing Stiles's as she hands him the bottle. "It's an exclusive party."

They watch HBO on the huge TV and get drunk. Lydia settles herself between the boys, loving the warm comforting weight of them on either side of her.

To his credit Scott figures out what's going on almost immediately, while Stiles seems adorably clueless.

"Really?" Scott whispers, into her hair. "We're doing this?"

"Shh." She slaps his hand lightly. "Stiles and I are watching a movie."

Scott settles for tracing circles over her hip, drawing patterns on her through the fabric.

Stiles smiles, his head resting back on the pillow. "This is nice," he says, giving her a goofy drunk smile. "You're so nice, Lydia."

She gives him a special little smile, just for him, and tweaks his cheek. "Drink up sweetheart. I've got plans for tonight. Big plans."

"Scott!" Stiles says loudly. "Lydia has plans."

"That's Lydia," Scott murmurs, swallowing a mouthful of champagne. "Always plotting something."

"Don't worry, McCall," Lydia says blithely. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy it."

"Always do." Scott gives her a cheerful smile and squeezes her hip.

She excuses herself to the bathroom, where she strips down to the matching red lace lingerie she's wearing under her dress. Lydia fluffs her hair and blows a kiss at the mirror before walking confidently back into the room.

Scott grins, obviously delighted at this turn of events. Stiles stares at her, open mouthed. He's frozen, a look of awe and disbelief on his face.

Lydia climbs onto the bed and crawls to him, watching his eyes track her. Scott whistles as Lydia climbs onto Stile's lap.

Stiles looks shell shocked, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He looks like the day she kissed him in the locker room, like _love_ and _wonder_ and _worship_.

Lydia cups his face in her hands and kisses him. Stiles gasps into her mouth and kisses her back, lips firm and sure, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair.

"Lydia," he breathes. "Lydia, _what_..."

Beside them Scott's watching them, very still on the bed.

"Stiles." Lydia gives him a coquettish smile. "Do you know what I want for my birthday?"

Stiles smiles nervously, his fingers just barely brushing her thighs. "You wouldn't tell me. You just said to show up."

Lydia curls over him and kisses the side of his neck. "Stiles."

"Yeah?"

She runs her tongue around his ear, grinning when he shudders. "Ask me what I want."

Stiles pulls her up, his hands firm on her waist. "Lydia?"

"Yes, Stiles?"

His thumb traces circles on her stomach. "What do you want for your birthday?"

She leans in, one hand tangling in his hair. "For my birthday I want to have sex with you. And Scott."

Stiles jolts like he's been electrocuted. "Sex?"

"Mm-hmm," she purrs.

"With me?"

"And Scott," she says. "It wouldn't be fair to leave him out, would it?"

"No," Stiles says faintly. "Wouldn't want that."

Lydia beams. "Are you saying yes?"

"Scott?" Stiles asks desperately. "Are you-is this-what's happening right now?"

"Stiles." Scott's hand grips his shoulder and Lydia watches as he relaxes under his best friend's touch. "Want to have a threesome?"

Stiles' eyes go wide. "Do _you_?"

Scott gives him a crooked smile. "You guys are my best friends. We all love each other. And we're all attractive, so yeah, that's good."

He winks at her and Lydia licks her lips.

"Come on Stiles," she whispers, toying with the hem of his shirt. "Don't you want to play with us?"

"I...yeah, I've wanted to have sex with you since like, seventh grade, it's just, it's _you_ , and _Scott_ , and-"

"Breathe, Stiles." Scott pats his arm.

Stiles ducks his head bashfully and sucks in a breath. "It's just... _why_?"

She smiles softly and cups his cheek. "Because I love you." She glances sideways at Scott. "Both of you."

Stiles exhales and locks his arms around her. "Okay."

Scott whoops and kisses Stiles' cheek and Stiles elbows him lightly in the ribs, grinning.

Lydia rolls between them and flips onto her back.

"Well?" She arches an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for?"

Scott and Stiles sit on either side of her, having a silent conversation that ends with Stiles nodding hesitantly at Scott, who slaps Stiles on the shoulder and sits back on his knees confidently.

Stiles bends down and kisses Lydia, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue.

Kissing him is different than kissing Scott. With him it's always a battle, aggressive, a grab for power that they both get off on.

Stiles is safe and warm and teasing. He nibbles at her bottom lip, runs his tongue behind her teeth, pulling back when she pushes against him.

She hears Scott stretching out on his stomach and then warm hands on her hips, thumbs stroking her stomach.

Stiles' lips leave her mouth and then they're on her throat, trailing butterfly kisses down to her collarbone. A jolt of heat runs right down to her core, making her hips jerk in Scott's hand.

"Scott," Stiles says raggedly. "Can you smell her?" His mouth is on her cleavage, pulling down the cups of her bra with his teeth.

"Yeah." Scott's hands slide inwards into the crease of her thighs. "I bet she's already wet."

There's an edge to his voice that makes Lydia whimper, reaching up to clutch Stiles's arm.

"What does she smell like?"

Scott starts to massage her thighs, making heat soak into the muscles. She feels pliable and soft, the buzz of champagne and Stiles's tongue hot and wet around her navel.

Scott inhales and squeezes her lightly. "Like sunlight. And something sweet, like pineapple."

"Bet you taste good, don't you Lydia," Stiles murmurs. "God you're so fucking soft, you're perfect, how is anyone this perfect?"

She moans, drunk on them, burning hot. Scott slides his hand under her back and she lifts her hips so he can roll down her underwear.

"Stiles," Scott murmurs. "Stiles, look."

"Oh my god." Stiles mouth hangs open. He's stroking the top of her head, watching Scott pry open her legs, knees falling to the side of the bed.

"Stiles," Scott whispers, running his thumb along the tendons of her inner thigh. "Okay if I touch her?"

Lydia smiles softly, touched that Scott's asking permission-not she belongs to anyone but herself, but at Scott's tact, his knowing that for Stiles this is more than just sex, that there are feelings here.

Lydia looks up at Stiles', who's looking down at her, Scott's large hands on her white thighs.

"Yeah," Stiles exhales, and palms his dick through his jeans. "I wanna watch."

" _Holy shit._ " The words slip past her lips and Stiles grins, bending down to kiss her. "I want to watch Scott make you come, okay?"

She moans in response, hips tilting in search of Scott's hands.

"Oh, Stiles," Scott says, his voice dripping with sex. "Dude, she's soaking."

Stiles eyes go dark. "Good."

"Scott," Lydia gasps. "Scott, please."

He clucks his tongue and plants his palm over her clit, reaches down to push two fingers inside her. Lydia rolls her hips, her hand tightening on Stile's bicep.

"Oh," she moans softly, when Scott curves his fingers.

"That all you got?" She can feel Scott grinning. He slides up, coming down on his elbow on her other side. "I know you, Lydia. You like a little show."

" _Yeah_ ," she moans. Stiles's breathe is hot in her ear and she's drowning between them, clutching Stiles like a lifeline while Scott lights her body on fire.

"She's gonna feel so good, man," Scott says heatedly to Stiles. "So hot, so tight."

Stiles groans, his hand tangling in her hair.

Lydia rolls her hips, feeling heat spiral deep in her belly, the pressure under Scott's thumb building until she's panting, her thighs shaking with the intensity of it.

"Is she gonna come?" she hears Stiles whisper above her head. "She looks like she's gonna come."

Scott flicks her clit and she cries out, working her hips desperately.

"Oh yeah." She can hear the satisfaction in Scott's voice. "She's gonna come so hard, aren't you Lydia?"

She wails, arching back into Stile's hand cupping her head.

"Answer me, Lydia," Scott says teasingly.

" _Yes_ ," she cries and then Scott curls his fingers deep inside.

Her back bows off the bed as she comes with a loud cry, pulsing around his fingers.

Stiles strokes her hair while Scott works her down, whispering beautiful nonsense in her ear.

"Boys," she murmurs. "Get naked."

Stiles and Scott whip their clothes off while Lydia gets the box of condoms out of her overnight bag and puts it on the nightstand. Lydia arranges Scott sitting against the headboard, and pushes Stiles' to sit back against Scott in the vee of his legs.

She straddles Stiles and watches his eyes roll back when she grips him.

"Jesus Christ," he hisses, his head thrown back against Scott's shoulder.

Scott smiles and wraps an arm around Stile's chest. "Feel good, buddy?"

"You guys," Stiles rasps. "This is...I can't believe this is happening."

"I don't know," Scott ponders. "Maybe the three of us were inevitable."

She catches Scott's gaze over Stile's shoulders. Lydia thinks about fate, about being brought together by Peter Hale of all people. About Allison Argent on the first day of school in that cute jacket Lydia coveted.

She grabs a condom from the nightstand and tears it open with her teeth. Stiles watches her with wide eyes as she rolls it on him. Scott's got his hand spread over Stiles' heart, whispers something in Stiles's ear when she sinks down onto him.

Stiles stutters, _fuck_ , his hands flying to her hips. Lydia pushes up and sinks back down, and she and Stiles moan in unison.

"How's he feel, Lydia?" Scott says with a grin.

"So good," she sighs, trailing her nails down Stiles' chest. "I knew it."

Stiles' jaw is slack, his eyes darting rapidly from her eyes to her lips to her breasts down to where she's rolling her hips against him in a steady slow grind.

"Hey," she murmurs, and cups his cheek in concern, watching his golden eyes flick around, like he can't focus.

Stiles gasps, and Scott tilts his head curiously, like he's listening to something.

"Lydia," Stiles chokes out, fingers digging into her hips. "I think I'm dreaming."

"I promise, you're not dreaming," she reassures him.

"Are you sure?"

Scott suddenly looks panicked and taps Lydia's ankle, hard. She stops moving, watching Stile's chest rise and fall, his fingers twitching at her sides.

"Breathe, Stiles." Scott says. "Take a deep breath."

Scott's tapping a slow rhythm out on Stiles' chest and Lydia watches, thumb running over Stiles' cheek, as he aligns his breathing with Scott.

"Sorry," Stiles apologizes hoarsely. "Overwhelmed."

She kisses him, very soft, and presses her forehead to his. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Just be here, okay? You're with us. You're safe."

Stiles nods rapidly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Sorry."

"It's okay. We can go slow, yeah?"

"Yeah," Stiles breathes. "Yeah, okay."

She rolls her hips, watching his cheeks redden, his pale skin glowing against Scott's bronze. The throb between her legs intensifies and she swallows a moan.

Scott has Stiles anchored to his chest with his arm, watching him with a tenderness that makes her slick with need.

"She's so turned on," Scott whispers to Stiles. "Look at her."

Stiles looks obediently and Lydia can't help but whimper and grind against him, chasing the build, that hot pulsing need under her skin.

"You're so beautiful," Stiles whispers. "God, Lydia."

Scott's lips brush Stiles' ear. "She thinks we're beautiful too. She's been wanting this for months."

"Yeah?" Stiles pants, an eyebrow raised at her.

" _Yes_ ," she can't help but cry out. "Want you so bad."

Stiles snaps his hips up into her and she clenches down hard around him.

"Jesus Scott," Stiles babbles. "She's gonna come again, how many times do you think she can come?"

"Oh, I don't know," Scott muses. "She's Lydia Martin, she can do anything, right?"

"Holy shit," Stiles breathes, and reaches down between her legs. "I'm fucking Lydia Martin."

His thumb finds her clit and she jumps, gasping as heat pools low in belly.

"You gonna come Lyds?" Stiles whispers. "Wanna make you come so bad, wanna feel you come around me."

"Answer him," Scott commands, clearly enjoying his role here. "Tell him how bad you want it."

She's shaking, tremors running up her spine. She has her hands on Stiles' shoulders for leverage, circling her hips desperately.

"I want it," she cries out, and Stiles' eyes go wide. "Want you so bad, want you to make me come, please Stiles, I need you, need you so much."

His hand is working frantically between her legs and when Stiles pounds up into her he pulls her face to his to kiss her, deep and dirty.

Lydia comes with a hot gush all over his cock, shaking in his arms, and Stiles groans _fuck_ and shudders under her.

Scott's beaming, watching them come down, gasping for air as she rolls off of him so Stiles can trash the condom.

Stiles looks shell-shocked, collapsing into her on the bed and burying his face in her neck.

"Love you," he says hoarsely. "Love you so much."

She strokes his neck, warm and content, watching Scott out of the corner of her eye. He's hard, working himself with a loose fist.

"Love you too," she murmurs to Stiles. "Come on. Scott's been so patient, think he should get a reward, right?"

"Hey, buddy," Stiles says to Scott. "You want to fuck her?"

Scott nods vigorously. "That okay?"

Stiles kisses her neck. "Whatever Lydia wants."

He strokes her hair off her forehead. "You want Scott to fuck you, Lydia? Want him to make you come again?"

Her mouth dry, she can only nod. "Get up," she says, and pulls Stiles up to kneel on the bed.

She gets up on her knees, facing him, and grips his waist. "Hold me up, okay?"

Stiles nods seriously, pressing her to him so her breasts are pushed into his chest.

"Scott," she murmurs, and twists to reach for him. "We're ready."

He comes up behind her, nudging her legs apart. Scott pushes into with a groan, his hands gripping her waist.

"God Stiles," he mutters. "You got her fucking wet."

"Scott, are you going to fuck me or not?" She says tartly. She's so full, totally supported by Stiles holding her up and she wants to come again, wants Scott to fuck her until she screams.

Scott chuckles low in her ear. "Stiles, hear that? Lydia wants to get fucked."

"Do it," Stiles says heatedly, and Lydia moans.

Scott starts to pound into her and Lydia squeaks, clutching onto Stiles.

"You like that, don't you Lydia," Scott says roughly, and smacks her ass.

She's a mess, her forehead resting on Stiles' chest while Scott hits her with a punishing rhythm from behind.

"Yeah," she moans, sticky and hot and halfway there already. "Feels so good."

Stiles holds her close while Scott fucks her, murmuring encouragements, telling her how good she is, _so sexy, so fucking hot, such a good girl_.

"You want it hard, Lydia?" Scott grunts, the steady snap of his hips making moans tumble from her lips.

She gasps, " _Yes_ ," and pulls Stiles' hand down between her legs.

Scott leans in over her shoulder to whisper something to Stiles that she doesn't catch, and then Scott's fucking her with abandon, good and hard and sloppy.

A low steady cry comes out of her, her hips moving in Scott's rhythm.

"Tell me when you're close," Scott murmurs in her ear. "We're gonna make you come so good, just wait, we're gonna fucking _ruin_ you Lydia."

"Oh god," she moans. "You two are going to kill me."

Scott snakes a hand low on her belly and pushes down. It's just the right side of too much, and she gasps, feeling something huge and powerful role through her.

"I'm gonna come," she warns, panting. "So close, _oh god, oh god_ , please, please-"

"Now," Scott commands.

Stiles' thumb rolls over her clit firmly and Scott's hand on her belly pushes down hard. Lydia comes apart with an obscene cry, spasming around them.

It seems to go on and on, stars bursting behind her eyelids, begging _don't stop, don't stop,_ as it crests likes a warm wave over her body. Eventually Scott jerks behind her, his face pressed into the back of her neck, and she collapses into Stiles.

He grins, a large hand curling around her neck as he bends down. "Happy birthday, Lydia."

They get into the jacuzzi naked together with the rest of the champagne, warm and spent.

Lydia curls up between them in the water, sleepy and sated.

"Good birthday?" Scott asks cheekily.

"The best," she murmurs, and kisses his cheek. "Thank you."

"Hey, Lydia," Stiles says, fingers running through her hair. "Next time you want to have sex with me you can just ask. Not that I don't appreciate the masterful plotting, but seriously, just ask."

She kisses him on the lips, wishing she could stay here forever, safe and loved with her beautiful boys.

"Hey Stiles," she whispers, letting her eyes drift shut. "Wanna fuck me in the morning?"

Stiles groans and Scott chuckles, his hand looping around her ankle.

"Yeah, Lydia" Stiles says. "I really do."

"See," Scott says softly, leaning over to stretch his arm behind both their shoulders, so they're all connected. "I told you. We're inevitable."

Lydia smiles. "Lucky me."

"No," Stiles corrects. "Lucky us."


End file.
